The hum of the car filled the silence, a steady drone that seemed to echo Elara's heartbeat. Damian sat beside her, his posture deceptively relaxed, though every inch of him radiated coiled tension. His hand still rested on her thigh, warm, possessive, anchoring her in place.
She forced her gaze to the window, watching the city slide by in streaks of neon. But the vibration of her clutch gnawed at her thoughts, the phantom buzz replaying in her bones. She wanted to reach for her phone, to see the message, to know if it was truly him—the shadow in the streetlight.
"Something's on your mind," Damian said finally, his voice low, a predator's purr.
Her throat tightened. "Just tired."
The corners of his mouth twitched, but his eyes were too sharp, too knowing. "Tired women don't stare at shadows."
Her breath caught, her pulse stumbling. She hadn't thought he noticed how long she looked, how her body froze when she saw that figure. But of course he had. Damian missed nothing.
"I thought I saw someone," she admitted, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.
"You did," Damian replied. His fingers drummed against her thigh, slow, deliberate. "The kind of man who mistakes himself for brave. A ghost from a past that doesn't belong to you anymore."
Elara's stomach churned. A past that doesn't belong to you anymore. What did he mean? Did he know the man? Did he know more than he let on?
"Who is he?" she asked, forcing courage into her tone.
Damian's smirk was sharp, cold. "No one worth your attention. And certainly no one worth mine." He leaned closer, his lips brushing her temple. "But if you keep staring at shadows, Elara, you'll forget who holds the light."
Her skin prickled, every word a leash tightening around her throat. Still, her hand slid discreetly into her clutch, fingers brushing the cool metal of her phone. The risk sent sparks of adrenaline rushing through her veins.
Damian's gaze flicked down. His hand pressed more firmly against her thigh. "Don't."
The single word was enough to freeze her in place.
She swallowed hard, her fingers retreating. "I just—"
"You don't need to explain." His tone was deceptively soft, but underneath it lay steel. "If there's something I should know, I'll find out. If there's something you're hiding…" His thumb stroked her skin, the gentleness at odds with the warning in his eyes. "You'll wish you hadn't."
The rest of the ride bled into silence. Damian's presence filled every corner of the car, suffocating, unshakable. Yet Elara's mind was consumed not by his touch, but by the message she hadn't read.
When the car finally pulled into the mansion's gates, her chest was tight with anticipation. Damian stepped out first, offering his hand. She hesitated, the memory of the man in the shadows burning behind her eyes.
This time, when she slipped her hand into his, it wasn't just fear that guided her. It was strategy. She had to play the part perfectly if she wanted any chance of surviving what came next.
Inside, the mansion greeted them with golden light and silence, the kind that carried secrets. Damian's hand lingered on her lower back as he guided her toward the grand staircase.
"Sleep well, little dove," he murmured, pressing a kiss against her hair. "Tomorrow, you'll understand why cages are safer than freedom."
But as Elara climbed the stairs, her fingers tightened around her clutch.
The phone inside was still waiting. And with it, the truth.